Ryder finally deemed it safe to leave me alone. Once the media tied Anna Blake to our practice, an absolute inevitability, it would mean more cancellations. Dr. Daley was already doing some damage control, as he called it.
Each time he passed by my desk, I heard him muttering to himself. Not a good sign. Maybe I should pop over to Temp$ for Hire and sign myself up. No, no, no!
I would not bail on the practice.
Okay, so I could read the big block writing on the wall, but I still had time to save Daley & Palmer.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Anna’s death was connected to her lover’s. My woman’s intuition told me that if I solved one murder, I solved them both, and I believed it.
I scanned the scant number of appointments scheduled for the day, scribbled a hasty note to my boss that I had to leave for an emergency and rushed out the door before he could catch me.
On the way to my granddad’s car, my temporary ride, I punched in the number for Max Chernov on my cell phone.
He had his ear to the ground. He knew things. And I wanted to know what he knew.
Getting his terse “leave a message” message I said, “Max, this is Becca. There’s been a murder. I’m on the case. And I need your help. Call me.” I left my cell phone number.
I roared out of the parking lot as much as my granddad’s 1991 Oldsmobile hooptie would allow. My first stop, Anna Blake’s house. Hitting Interstate 64, I pushed down hard on the accelerator willing the Olds to find the passing gear or any gear that would get me up to minimum interstate speed.
Taking the off-ramp to Short Pump, I wound through the latest urban sprawl that used to be cow pastures and scenic countryside. Anna lived in an upscale part of this nouveau riche area, one of the newer expansions in the far west end of River City. Making a series of left and right turns, I easily found her street.
Locating her house was even less of a problem. The police vehicles and crime scene tape were a dead giveaway – no pun intended.
Neighbors, mostly stay-at-home moms and the retired, stood out on their lawns to watch the investigation or get a glimpse of the latest news crew to arrive on the scene. I felt sorry for the police trying to do their jobs and maintain crowd control.
Before the Olds got too far, a fuzz-faced Henrico County cop flagged me to a stop. He stuck his head into my window and said, “Sorry, ma’am. Can’t let you go any further. This is a crime scene.”
Ma’am? Ouch. Briefly, I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. Bottom line, I had to get more sleep. Ugly dark circles were taking up permanent residence under my eyes.
“The deceased was one of our clients,” I stated. The young cop appeared unimpressed and shrugged before walking away to join his buddies. I decided to park the car and do some foot surveillance. Ask a few questions of the neighbors.
Mindful of any small tots or pets, I threw the car into reverse and backed down the block until I could find a space large enough to turn around. I finally located a parking spot about two blocks away from the crime scene.
As I emerged from the car, my cell phone rang. I checked the display. Granddad.
Oh no, not now. I let his call go to voice mail.
Before I could take more than ten steps the phone rang again. I didn’t bother checking the display. I knew who it was. Granddad was persistent this morning. Worried that he may need something, I flipped the phone open. “What?” I asked a bit grumpier than I’d meant and instantly regretted my terse tone.
“Ah, my-ah sladkaya, you sound like you’re having a bad day.” Max. Just the sound of his Russian accent melted my heart. And he’d called me “my sweet one” again. My heart gave a happy bump. “Becca, are you still there?”
“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.” Someone who didn’t address me with Russian endearments.
“I’m crushed.” He laughed softly and for a split second, I almost believed he was. Crushed, I mean. Then reality kicked in.
“I need your help, Max.” I stopped walking and turned away from the crowded scene.
“My pleasure.”
“One of our patients has been murdered.”
“Yes, you told me about it. I thought you had given up your investigation into his death.” A hint of disapproval slipped into his voice.
“No, not that patient. It’s another one.”
There was silence from the other end of the phone. I thought his call had dropped out. “Max, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Becca. I hear you.” I could only hope his eardrum still worked since I may have raised my voice a bit when I’d asked my question. After all, I was outside. “Are you saying another person connected to your office is dead?” He sounded suspicious.
“Yes. I’m here at the murder scene, but the police won’t let me get near anything. So I’m going to canvas the neighbors.”
“No! No, you’re not.” His voice calmed and he continued, “You’re going to get out of there before you get into more trouble.”
I fisted my free hand at my side. “You are not the boss of me!” Why did everyone think they were?
“Easy, Becca, easy. I’m trying to protect you. Leave this to the police. For certain reasons, I can’t come to you, but I can meet you elsewhere. We need to talk. You may very well be in danger.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Half of the county’s finest are out here, not to mention news teams from all of the local stations. How could I possibly be in danger?”
“A murderer is on the loose. You knew both victims. And possibly the murderer, as well. Get out of there now. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes at the Barnes & Noble in Short Pump.” He clicked off before I could offer any argument.
Was Max right? Was my life in danger? I glanced around at the strangers all rubbernecking to see what was happening at Anna Blake’s house. I didn’t recognize anyone - which was a good thing. If I didn’t know them, chances were they didn’t know me either.
Max had caused my paranoia to kick into high gear. Better safe than dead. I’d drive to B & N and see what he had to say.
It took me less than ten minutes to reach the bookstore parking lot. This early in the day parking was no problem. Granddad had warned me to make sure I parked the Olds away from other cars so his doors didn’t get dinged. He babied his car as much as he babied Higgins. But since I didn’t want Lecture 409, You Ding My Car; You Pay for a New Paint Job, I made sure I parked in a space without any cars nearby.
Before I could open my door, the passenger door opened and Max slipped in beside me. “Drive,” he commanded in that irritating Russian way of his. But I couldn’t be but so mad at him because even the word “drive” sounded sexy the way he pronounced it.
“Where to?” I asked as I pulled out of the lot and onto the access road leading to busy Broad Street.
“Turn right.”
I did as he directed mainly because there was no way to turn left. Coaxing the Olds to perk up a bit, we blended into the traffic. The minute we passed the entrance to Short Pump Towne Center, Max relaxed.
“Are we going anywhere in particular?” I took my eyes off the road to glance in his direction, but he kept his attention riveted on the side view mirror.
“Take that road up there, off to the left.” He pointed to a street not too far in the distance.
I put on the turn signal and changed lanes, cutting off a guy. The blaring horn made my shoulders hunch. As the car whipped by us on the outside lane, the driver shot us the finger.
“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.
Max grinned. “Becca, I’m surprised at you. Such interesting language.”
“Yeah, well I’m not having a great day. And neither is Anna Blake.” My fingers flew up to my mouth. Damn.
I’d given away the patient’s name.
Talk about violating patient confidentiality.
Chernov gestured to a driveway ahead of us. “Up there. That church lot. Pull in there.” His voice had a low huskiness that caught me by surprise.
Once I’d stopped the car, he reached over and switched off the ignition. “Tell me,” he commanded. “Tell me about this latest murder.”
“Not much to tell. I went to work this morning. A patient was waiting to be seen. Only she didn’t have an appointment. I’ve got to talk to the doctors about her. I’m concerned. She shows up at the oddest times. And never actually speaks. I’m not even sure she is one of our patients. But if she isn’t, she should be. Oh, and she does this fancy beading. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings. Truly beautiful. But I sense that life has been cruel to her.”
“Becca, the dead patient. Focus, please,” Max demanded.
“Right. It’s just that I’m worried about my mystery patient.”
Max took my hand, his expression grim. “I know you’re upset. But I can’t help you if you don’t focus on the murder. Now, please. Try again.”
I wilted. “Okay. See, I heard our patient’s death announced on the radio. But then I figured I’d heard wrong so I called the station to verify her address and sure enough, she was our patient. She’d been strangled. She’s also Robert O’Malley’s lover. The first victim? And I think the two deaths are related.”
I waited for him to talk me out of my scenario, but he merely sat there in silence. “Max?”
“I knew Anna.”
Wow, talk about your bombshells. “You did?”
“Yes. She had a few problems. But she didn’t deserve this.” His voice held a note of danger that I hadn’t previously detected. After brooding for a few moments, he regarded me with a cold expression, though I didn’t get the impression his coldness was directed at me. “I’m warning you, Becca. Stay out of this. You don’t know what you’re dealing with. You’re in over your head. Stay away from Daley & Palmer. Take a vacation. For the sake of your health.”
Was he trying to frighten me?
If so, he was succeeding. I struggled to keep my breathing level. “What do you know?” I whispered.
His chocolate brown eyes were harder than I’d ever seen them before. “I know nothing at all. But I suspect several things. And I want to keep you safe. That means keeping you away from danger. Away from where you work.”
“But… If I don’t go to work, I’ll lose my job.”
“There are other jobs.” He gazed out the windshield instead of looking at me.
“I want this job,” I replied stubbornly.
“Let’s drive back to the bookstore. I have some calls to make. Go home, Becca. Don’t talk to anyone about this.” He finally turned toward me again. It was like he was shutting himself off or steeling himself for an unpleasant task.
Yet, beneath it all, I saw concern.
“Max, I asked for your help. I need answers. Two people I knew are dead. And I have no intention of hiding out until the murderer is apprehended.” Despite my bravado, my voice betrayed my fear.
“This is not up for discussion. Be a good girl and leave this problem to the authorities.”
Be a good girl? Oh, man. He so did not know me. “This problem, as you call it, is murder. The police haven’t done a bang-up job of finding who killed Robert O’Malley. Why should I believe they’ll do any better with Anna’s death?”
In answer to my question, he reached over and turned the ignition key. Granddad’s car roared to life and smoke thick enough to kill a thousand mosquitoes poured out of the exhaust pipe.
“You have no other choice, Becca. Back to the bookstore.”
He sat in the passenger seat like a gulag archipelago, cold, dark, and distant. I returned to Barnes & Noble. Neither of us spoke during the brief drive, each lost in our own thoughts.
I pulled into the parking place I’d occupied before. “I will be very disappointed if I find out you don’t heed my advice,” he said. He stared at me to make sure I got his meaning.
Max Chernov didn’t scare me.
Okay, right then he did scare me.
But I wasn’t taking orders from him or anyone else. I gave him back look for look, causing him to sigh.
Without another word, he exited the car and wove a path through the parked cars and around the building until he disappeared from my line of sight.
The entire drive back to the office, I replayed Max’s warning and his admission that he knew Anna. If he knew her, did he also know Robert? He hadn’t reacted when I’d mentioned O’Malley’s name. Not that that meant anything. But I couldn’t help considering how and where he might have met one or both of them.
I was getting sick and tired of having more questions than answers.
The instant I got back to work, I saw my boss rushing over to his rental car. I hurried after him. “Dr. D.? Are you off to the hospital?”
Ignoring my question he said, “I’ve talked with Marcy. In light of the circumstances, we’re closing the office for the rest of the day. Take the time off. With pay.”
Okay, something was really wrong. Both docs had been crying the money blues. For Dr. Dick to give me the day off surprised the heck out of me, but to do it with pay was downright shocking. “Where are you off to?” I asked.
“Go home, Miss Reynolds. Go home.”
I’d heard that a lot this morning.
Instead of following his advice, I walked toward the building. Maybe Ryder could shed some light on what I should do. Either that or he’d be the third person to tell me to go home.
Maybe I’d come down with a case of oppositional disorder - OD. I’d read about it the other day in one of the medical journals when we’d been between patients. Someone tells me to do something, and my OD kicks into gear compelling me to do the opposite. Yep, that’s what I had. I was developing a knack for giving myself the proper diagnosis.
Before I came to work for the shrinks, I thought I was normal. Since my employment, I’d discovered that I was prone to panic attacks when faced with especially bad news, post-traumatic stress disorder thanks to the dead body I’d discovered, and now I could add oppositional disorder to the growing list of medical mental maladies. By the time I finished, I’d have more initials after my name than the docs.
I reached Ryder’s office, half-expecting the door to be locked. Instead, it stood open. My lucky day? “Hey, Ryder, are you here?” I called out.
He emerged, not from his office, but from a door off to the right of the reception area – one that I hadn’t noticed on any of my previous visits. He leaned against the door jamb and studied me with a slow smile.
Wow. Where had that come from? Wherever I wanted a regular supply.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I need your help.” It was the second time that day I’d asked a man for help. I hoped the results weren’t going to be the same.
His gaze grew more intent.
“I’m listening.”
“Another one of our patients is dead.” I let the words hang between us and searched his face for a reaction. True to form, he kept his features neutral, but I could tell he was waiting for me to continue.
“The other dead person’s lover,” I added.
He rewarded me with a narrowing of his eyes.
“It’s not a coincidence. I know it isn’t. She was murdered, probably by the same person who killed Mr. O’Malley,” I stated.
He reached out and put his hands on my arms to still the nervous energy I knew must be pouring from my body. I tried to hold still but couldn’t. Okay, add hyperactivity disorder (HD) to my growing laundry list of problems.
“Ryder, I need answers.”
“No, Becca. No, you don’t. That’s why we have the police. They investigate crimes. Not ordinary citizens.”
Ordinary? He thought I was ordinary? And all of this time I thought he was kind of attracted to me.
This day totally sucked. My posture gave out on me, and I slumped under the weight of my troubles.
Ryder gently pulled me to him, and I let him. Ordinary.
Maybe he was into ordinary and then my mind flashed back to sunglass lady. No, definitely not. I jerked my body away from him and paced around the empty area giving full rein to my hyperactivity.
“You’re going to make yourself sick over something beyond your control.” His voice came from behind me, and I whirled around.
“People are dying on me, Ryder. Everywhere I go it seems like another dead body crops up. Not strangers, but people I know. People who may not be perfect but who don’t deserve some whack job killing them, either.” I shivered just thinking about it.
“It’s out of your control.” Ryder managed to stay calm and cool.
“The heck it is. If I don’t solve these murders, Daley & Palmer is going to be history. And with it, my job.” I held up my hand before he could launch into a lecture on all of the jobs that were out there. “Besides, this is just a little too close for comfort. Any of us could be next.”
“I think you’re being melodramatic.” He headed for his office, and I followed.
“Melodramatic? There’s a murderer on the loose, and I’m the one being melodramatic. Oh, I think not.”
He reached into his mini-fridge, cleverly hidden in the bookcase behind his desk and produced two cans of soft drinks. Huh.
So that’s where he’d hidden the fridge.
He popped the tops on both cans, handing me one. I nodded in gratitude. “Ryder, I’m going to investigate these deaths with or without help. I was hoping I could count on you.” I took a large swig of the carbonated beverage, quenching my thirst and some of my passion or hyperactivity – I wasn’t exactly sure which.
He leaned forward. “Here’s some friendly advice. Stay out of it.”
“No.” I took another hefty, unladylike gulp of the drink.
“I’d hate to visit you in jail.”
That got my attention. “I haven’t broken any laws.”
“Not yet you haven’t. But interfere with on-going investigations and the police will be within their rights to arrest you.”
My mouth dropped open. Seriously? “You’re kidding!”
He shook his head no.
“But, but…”
“No buts. I know losing people you know is upsetting to you. Especially losing them to violence. Maybe Marcy or Dick could give you some coping skills.”
“Are you nuts? They’re not exactly dealing with the deaths any better than I am. They’ve closed the office down. And they’re paying me,” I added for emphasis.
“I’d think leave with pay would be a good thing, not something upsetting. Take a few days off and relax. Put all this behind you.”
I stood. No one understood. “You’re as bad as Max. Go home. Be safe. Blah, blah, blah. And meanwhile, a murderer is free to kill again. And the next time it could be me.”
In my rush to get my words out, I’d failed to pick up on the storm clouds that had gathered over Ryder’s features. Uh-oh. I’d told him about contacting Max.
Worse, I’d lumped him and Chernov together. Talk about your tactical errors.
“Go home, Becca. I can’t, no let me rephrase that, I won’t help you. And I’m astonished Chernov had the good sense to refuse to help you. That’s all you need is to get mixed up in his world.”
I jumped to my feet.
“Then he is connected.” Ryder stared at me like I had two heads. “To the mob. The Russian mob. I knew it.”
I hit my fist into the open palm of my opposite hand. “That’s why you don’t like him. He’s a made man.”
Ryder stood up and came around to my side of the desk. He took me by the crook of my arm and led me to the waiting room. “You’ve been watching The Sopranos on cable again, haven’t you?”
“Very funny. Besides, they’re Italians. I’m working for a place where the patients are getting rubbed out by the Russian mob. And you’re telling me to relax. Don’t you see? We need to bring these people to justice. Imagine,” I marveled. “The mob. In our quiet little city.”
“First our little city, as you put it, is one of the most dangerous cities in the country per capita, thanks to drugs. It’s not quiet. Even you can’t believe that. And it isn’t little. Add in the surrounding counties and Richmond is large. Not Chicago large, but large nevertheless. There’s more than enough crime to go around. Okay, so Henrico County is a great place to live. The police do an amazing job of keeping crime in check. But don’t think the whole city is like that. Some places should be avoided if you know what’s good for you, just like in any big city. Go home, Becca. Leave this to the police.”
I saw red when he mentioned going home. Okay, so the rest of the stuff he said held some validity. I needed to be careful. But if I could just get someone to help me, it wouldn’t be all that dangerous, especially if it meant putting a killer behind bars.
“I’m not going home. I’m going to cruise around and see if I can’t find some mobsters.” I didn’t mean it, but I wanted Ryder’s reaction.
“Way too much television. That can’t be good for your STD.”
I did a double-take. And caught him quirking his lip up and trying to keep from laughing. “You know darn well that I don’t have an STD.” My cheeks burned red-hot.
He couldn’t help from smiling broadly. “Got you.”
“You wish,” I taunted back.
“Be careful about tossing around wishes, Becca. Intention is a powerful thing.”
My heart did a weird fluttery thing, and I backed up and collided with the office door.
Ryder watched in amusement.
He must think I was the biggest klutz he’d ever known. No, make that the most ordinary klutzy ditz he’d ever known. I had to get out of here before my self-esteem plummeted any further.